


Flawed

by ShepardCommander



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepardCommander/pseuds/ShepardCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda Lawson is supposed to be perfect, genetically engineered to be a goddess among men. But how can she be when she has one undeniable flaw? It's going to take everything Shepard's got to make her see herself as he views her, even if he has to follow her around the galaxy to do it. DISCONTINUED. MOVING TO "COMPLETE" STATUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Benign neoplasm.

Benign: of a mild type or character that does not threaten health or life; especially, not becoming cancerous.

Neoplasm: tumor.

_“…While we cannot firmly attribute the cause of the benign neoplasm to the irregularity in your genetic makeup, we can confirm that the progressive damage renders you unable to conceive a child…”_

She knew what the words meant. She knew their definition, origin, and how to speak them in several different languages. She knew just about everything there was to know about genetics, biology, tumors, diseases, mutations, human evolution, alien evolution…you name it, she knew it. But knowing _about_ something and knowing how to _solve_ something were two completely different things.

Miranda Lawson let out a frustrated scream and overturned the table in front of her, datapads, old medical texts, and a computer terminal going flying across the floor. She stood there, panting heavily and mind raging, her normally neat hair in a tangled mess as her bloodshot eyes darted around the room that served as her office. She wanted to hit something, wanted to scream some more and throw a tantrum. The calm, cold, calculating ex-Cerberus officer had finally lost her temper. And it was not pretty.

She had been designed to be perfect, to be beautiful, powerful, intelligent, gifted. And yet, for everything she was and everything she claimed to be, she couldn’t fix _it_ , didn’t understand how to _fix_ herself and it was driving her insane. She could bring someone back from the dead, but when it came to her own body she was unable to do a damn thing.

_If I can save one life why can’t I make a new one?_

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her legs nearly giving out as the momentary energy spike the adrenaline rush had granted her disappeared. The anger that had been burning brightly within her began to subside and she was left with a dull ache in her heart; an ache of desperation, longing, and hopelessness.

What good was her intelligence? What good was it to be the perfect specimen, the epitome of the human race, and be unable to pass on what made her so special? All creatures were born with the instinct to mate and pass on their genes, so why couldn’t she? Why was she doomed to be a genetic dead end? Was it because she had been born unnaturally, created by artificial means? Because she was nearly perfect? Because her father had decided to take the role of God? Was that why she was cursed?

“Whoa…I didn’t miss our anniversary or anything, did I?”

Miranda’s eyes widened as a familiar voice reached her ears, her heart picking up its pace.

She looked up to see the Commander leaning against the arch that separated her office from the lab, surprised to see him dressed in the formal attire that Kasumi Goto had acquired for him a few years earlier. It was rather funny that he still had it, at least she thought so. The man could buy anything he wanted with the credits he had accumulated from his time in Cerberus and his service in the Reaper War, but he held on to the fashion relic stubbornly. Not that he didn’t look good in it—and she rather appreciated how it complimented his natural rugged good looks—but still…If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that the reason he clung to it so was because he had a crush on the thief.

“Shepard. I wasn’t expecting you till Friday,” she said calmly, her tone not betraying the embarrassment she felt at the state he had caught her in. Self-consciously she smoothed the front of her white uniform, hoping that she hadn’t gotten any coffee stains or crumbs on it. One of those little grins of his was on his face; he was obviously amused at her attempt to cover up her distress. Oh, she could hit him.

“Yeah, I know…” Shepard said, walking in, head swiveling around as he took in the fruit of Miranda’s labors over the past few days. “…Funny thing is, it’s Friday.”

Miranda frowned.

What? Friday? It couldn’t be, could it? Last time she had checked it had been Wednesday. Was it really Friday? Where had the last two days gone? It couldn’t…but then she had…but no…

She crossed her arms over her chest, raising one eyebrow as she looked at the war hero dryly. “Are you sure? This isn’t another one of your jokes, is it? I’m not exactly in the mood.”

“Me? Joke with you? Perish the thought,” Shepard teased gently as he came up to her. Smiling, he wrapped his hands around her waist and brought her in closer, bumping his forehead against hers affectionately. “I know how you get when you’re working. It’s rather adorable actually.”

“Watch it Shepard,” Miranda said with a hint of danger in her voice, trying but failing to not let on that she was pleased with his comment. “I brought you into this world. Twice. I can take you out and make another one just like you.”

Shepard laughed. “I don’t doubt that you could.”

“Yes, well…” Miranda gently broke his grip on her, turning around to survey the mess she had made. Sighing, she shook her head in dismay. She would have to clean up.

She stooped and began to pick up the datapads, checking each one for any sign of damage. “If it really is Friday, then I haven’t bathed or slept in two days. Best to keep your distance.” She paused, teeth worrying her lower lip before she continued, albeit with a more apologetic tone. “I’m sorry Shepard. I’m in no condition to go out tonight.” She looked over her shoulder at him, true repentance etched onto her face. “I know you were looking forward to it, but I…I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he reassured her, walking over to the upturned table. He picked it up and returned it to its regular spot before bending over to grab the computer terminal. “I know you’re busy, though I’m not quite sure with what.”

He found the whole situation rather funny actually. Usually it was the guy forgetting things like dates and standing up the girl, but not in Miranda’s case. Not that he minded or ever got mad at her; Miranda was Miranda and Miranda was nothing if not dedicated to her work. She was passionate, quick witted, intelligent, deadly, _unique._ He wouldn’t change one iota about her and had known from the moment he had awoken on her operating table for the second time in his life—once again pulled from the jaws of death by her nimble fingers—that she was the one he wanted to be with forever.

He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted—no, needed—her in his life until he’d almost lost her to that damned Cerberus assassin. He would always thank whatever gods were watching out for him that he’d had the opportunity to warn her about Kai Leng and therefore given her the chance to prepare for his attack.

“Sure wish you would tell me what it is you’re doing. You never know…maybe I could help.” He shot her a seductive glance. “I’m handy with more than guns.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and let out a chuckle at the innuendo. “That you are Shepard, but…this is…something…” She let out a breath, her countenance darkening. “This is something I have to do by myself.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed in concern. There was very little she didn’t tell him and while he trusted her with his life, when she said things like that…It made him worry.

For as strong as Miranda was, she was also fragile. Pushed to be perfect from a young age, robbed of normality, blessed with beauty, gifted beyond belief, yet unable to--

“Miranda,” he said suddenly, a thought dawning on him. “Please tell me that all the late nights are not because you—“

“I have to Shepard. I have to fix this,” she cut in sharply. “I have to fix myself.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Shepard said softly, walking over to her and squatting down next to where she sat. He took her hands in his and squeezed gently. “You haven’t been pushing back the date on the wedding because of this, have you? Is that why you don’t want to go through with it?”

The biotic shock her head, avoiding his knowing eyes. He knew how to read her so well that is was annoying at times.

“It’s just…I want to have children, Shepard. _Your_ children,” she said quietly. “You deserve that much. To have your genetics passed on.” She let out a bitter laugh, finally looking at him. “Just imagine what a child of the luckiest hero in the galaxy and the epitome of human evolution would be like.”

“Miranda...”

“Oh! Just listen to me! Concerned with genetics! Preserving your legacy! I sound just like my father…”

“Miranda…”

“But that’s not why I want to have children! I swear! I just...oh! Never mind! You probably think I’m terrible now!...”

“ _Miranda—_ “

“I can’t describe why I want children so badly. Biologically it makes sense, but it’s more than that. I just want to—MMF!”

Shepard’s lips crushed Miranda’s silencing her babblings. She let out a moan, allowing him to deepen the kiss before pressing back with just as much ferocity. No one could do this to her, make her feel this way.

_Only Shepard. Kisses like there’s no tomorrow._

Before either one could get more riled up then they already were, they broke apart, both breathless.

“Shepard—“

“Hey, not now, ok? I know you’re not up to anything fancy but I still think you should get out and remember what the rest of the world looks like. Take your mind off things for a while. Then…then we’ll talk. Deal?”

Miranda smiled. There was no point in arguing with Shepard, especially if he was right. She was going to forget what it felt like to get out and interact with human beings (in her mind, Shepard didn’t count). Perhaps if she stopped thinking about her problem the solution would come to her. A watched pot never boils, as the old human saying went.

“You win. Wait here,” she said, “you can clean up while _I_ clean up.”

“Are you sure you won’t need…assistance?” Shepard asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Miranda snorted. “Positive.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Miranda grinned, thoroughly amused, as yet another couple shot uneasy glances in the direction of her and the Commander. Shepard looked out of his place in his formal wear; the pounding music and flashing neon lights giving rise to a hip and happening vibe while his crisply pressed suit radiated a professionalism that was ill suited to the bar. A few individuals had nervously glanced at the imposing man as he had stridden in, his left arm wrapped firmly around Miranda’s waist. What was someone who was dressed for success doing in a place like that?

Shepard noticed the female fatale smiling at him and he flashed one of his trademark, lopsided boyish grins. “You’re smiling. That’s good.”

Miranda looked down at her drink, an asari beverage she’d wanted to try, and shook her head, a smile still on her lips. She still felt a bit bad that Shepard had had to cancel the reservations to the restaurant he’d made earlier in the week, but he had said he didn’t mind it at all.

“Don’t really like those upscale snob places anyway,” he had said, opening the collar on his shirt. “And I know you don’t either. They’ve got great food but it’s all overpriced and you’ve got people staring at you…besides…”—and here he had smiled warmly at Miranda, his eyes holding hers—“as long as I’m with you, any place is good for me.”

Even though most people only saw the part of Shepard that was the Commander, his friends and Miranda knew that deep beneath it all he was a real nice guy. He came off as terrifying to some, a killing machine with unlimited resources with his status as a Spectre, but Miranda knew that that wasn’t true. There was more to him than guns and violence. Much, much more.

“As long as I’m with you, any place is good for me,” Miranda quipped, looking back up at him.

Shepard snorted and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hmm…could have sworn I’ve heard that line used before.”

“Yes, well…” Miranda said, taking a drink. “It’s rather cheesy.”

Shepard feigned a hurt look. “Hey now!”

The ex-Cerberus officer held up a hand. “But romantic at the same time.”

“Are you implying that I’m a sappy romantic?”

“Hmm…maybe.”

The two stared at each other for a bit, locked in a silent battle of wills. After a minute, Shepard held up his hands in defeat, laughing.

“Ok, ok, guilty as charged,” he admitted. “I know when I’m wrong.”

“Don’t worry…I won’t tell anyone that the great Commander Shepard is really a cuddly puppy dog on the inside.”

“Actually, maybe you should,” the Commander half-joked, waving his hand at the crowd that was staying a few feet back from their table. “Maybe then people wouldn’t think I’m a thresher maw in man’s flesh.”

Miranda lifted an eyebrow, her head moving the slightest so she could once again observe the throng of people.

“You can’t really blame them Shepard,” she reasoned. “I mean, you’ve been clinically dead—twice now—and come back to life, were the first human Spectre, survived a mission without a single casualty that you shouldn’t have come back from at all, _and_ have taken down more Reapers then most armies combined ever have. You’re a bit intimidating.”

“Yeah, well…I had some help along the way,” Shepard said. “As much as people like to think I am, I’m not a one man army. I need friends, comrades, _you_ …” He reached across the table and took her hands in his, causing her to look back at him. His hands were large and warm around hers. “…and, as much you like to think you’re a giant brain without wants, needs, and emotions you’re not.”

“Shepard…” Miranda knew where this was going and tried to pull back but Shepard hung on to her hands stubbornly.

“Miranda…I’m here for you. Whatever it is you’re going through…we’re a team now. Please,” he looked at her, eyes pleading. “Let me help you. You’ve already done so much for me. Let me return the favor.”

The brunette chortled. “Help me? Shepard, you’ve already have and then some. You’ve helped me save Ori, saved my life from Kai Leng, saved everyone’s life from the Reapers…” She tilted her head and looked at him, emotions coursing through her. _And you fell in love me_. “Haven’t you already done enough?”

Sometimes she worried about the Commander. He was always on the run, chasing down criminals, righting wrongs. It was as if he was determined to take the galaxy’s burdens as his own. He deserved a break.

Shepard shook his head. “I had a two year break not too long ago—“

“Being dead does not count as a ‘break.’”

“—not to mention I’m just getting off of a six month recuperation—“

“Which means you should still be taking it easy.”

“—and the _Normandy_ crew is spread throughout the systems helping rebuild their homeworlds. I’ve got nothing to do.”

Sighing, Miranda looked down at their joined hands. They were going to get married eventually. Shepard had been all up for having one immediately, but she had wanted to put it off until she could “fix” herself. Of course he didn’t think there was anything wrong with her, and it wasn’t like having children was life or death, but it was something she still wanted. Badly. And what about Ori, her genetic twin? Would she have this problem as well?

“Miranda, _please_.”

The biotic felt the soldier’s hands tighten around hers, comforting and supporting in their strong grip. The music and other distractions of the bar seemed to melt away, time freezing as she took slow, deep breaths. It was just him and her, no one else.

He loved her, Spirits did he love her, and she loved him. He had been right all those months ago when he had said that being together was never going to be easy for them, but dammit, they were going to make it work no matter the odds.

“I…heard about a salarian researcher that was working with another woman with the same problem some years ago,” she said after a bit, carefully choosing her words. “Interestingly enough, the file it was in was highly encrypted and labeled top secret.”

“Which means that you had to read it of course,” Shepard put in.

“Of course I did,” Miranda smiled, her face turning to a frown as she continued on. “The interesting thing is that…a lot of it was…missing.”

Shepard’s brow furrowed together and he scooted closer to her, intrigued. “What do you mean ‘missing’?”

Miranda shook her head, frustrated. “Entire parts of the original file were missing. Only bits and pieces remained. There was enough left for me to put together a trace to the system it was originally uploaded from and the salarian’s name, but the woman he was working with…nothing.”

“Do you think that maybe…?”

“Maybe she was another twin of mine? Possible, though not likely,” Miranda said. “I’m not the only woman that has…irregularities like this nor am I the only one interested in correcting it.”

Shepard had frowned at the word “correcting” but nodded his head in acceptance of her theory before adding, “No, but you’re the only one that has the brains to do it.”

Miranda grinned, pleased at his comment. “Always the smooth talker.”

Shepard grinned back. “Always.”


End file.
